At the door she knocked; the old servant opened it a little way and looked suspiciously forth. All at once it seemed to Theresa that it might not be quite easy to get old Madame de Berquin to accept the food of which she stood in such sore need.

"What do you want?" asked old Jeanne suspiciously.

"I have brought Madame de Berquin's rations," answered Theresa, with a sudden inspiration. "You know the city is on rations now, and, as we live in the same house, I thought I might fetch Madame's with ours. It is not very much, I fear, but----"

The old woman opened the door wider and beckoned Theresa in. Something in the white, drawn face of the servant went to the girl's heart! her aspect, and that of the attic itself, bespoke the direst poverty. Madame de Berquin lay upon the bed; she looked almost like a corpse to the girl; her eyes dilated with fear.

"She is not dead, but she would soon have died," said the old woman. "I was praying it might be soon for both of us. She will not let me fetch the rations; she will not have her name set down for a dole. How did you get it from her?" and despite the almost wolfish hunger in her eyes, old Jeanne seemed disposed to push the food away.

"I did not give your name; I did not know it," answered Theresa simply.

"I just got some with ours. They are in a great hurry at the office.

They do not ask many questions."

"Then may the saints and the good G.o.d reward you!" cried the old woman, with a sob in her voice; "for verily I thought to see my dear mistress perish of want before my eyes!"

Now, however, with Theresa's a.s.sistance, she raised the prostrate figure, and Madame de Berquin revived as the hot, fragrant coffee pa.s.sed her lips. They gave her morsels of bread soaked in it. They fed her gradually, as an infant is fed, until the light began to come back into her eyes and the grey pallor of her cheeks to change to something more lifelike.

"I shall come again to-morrow and bring some more," whispered Theresa, as she slipped away at last; and the look which the old woman gave her was reward enough.

But all days were not such good ones for Theresa as this one had been.

Sometimes she was in terrible fear as she went her way, for the bullets seemed to be whizzing in the air about her, and the sounds of fearful explosions all round made her doubt whether she should escape with her life. And the long, long waiting in the biting cold, and the perils she encountered from daring little gamins or ill-conditioned men, made her daily journey a growing terror to her. But the thought of the crippled mother and those two patient old women upstairs, all dependent upon her for the food which kept life in them, nerved her to conquer her fears and to persevere, in spite of all the dangers she had to face.

Then came the day when her bravery met with an unexpected reward. She was waiting to cross that terrible boulevard. She had been waiting long, and still she dared not face the peril. She heard the bullets biting the stones, and a sh.e.l.l had exploded in the centre of the road just as she came up. She began to fear that she was losing her nerve, that she was growing less brave rather than more, when suddenly she was held riveted to the spot by the sight of a boy, about seven or eight years old, dressed as a gentleman's child, who came running along gaily, rather as though he had escaped from restraint, and dashed into the middle of the broad roadway. Then suddenly he threw up his hands, gave a quick cry, and fell forward.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Theresa forgot everything in the sight of the child's peril.

_Page_ 183.]

Theresa forgot everything in the sight of the child's peril. Dashing forward, she caught him up in her arms, dropping basket and can and everything, and staggered across the road with him, just as a pale-faced gentleman, in semi-military dress, came rushing up in a terrible state of anxiety and excitement.

"Etienne, Etienne, what hast thou done?"

The little boy had given forth one l.u.s.ty yell at the sight of blood on his tunic, but a hasty survey satisfied the father that it was a scratch rather than a wound the child had received, and the colour began to come back to his face.

"My brave girl," he said, turning to Theresa, "how can I thank you for this great service? Do you know that scarcely had you s.n.a.t.c.hed up the boy and got him away than the ground where he was lying was torn up by some fragments of a sh.e.l.l? Had he lain there a few seconds longer he must have perished!"

"Ah, how glad I am I was there just then," said Theresa simply.

"Were you not frightened, my child? Did you not know the peril of pa.s.sing that street?"

"Oh, yes; I know. I am rather frightened, but I have to go by every day to get food. I must be going now, or I shall lose my turn."

"Nay, nay; come back with me, and my wife shall fill the basket to-day,"

answered the gentleman, with a kindly authority that the girl could not resist; and, as she walked beside him, Etienne, proud of his adventure and his little hurt, hanging to his father's hand, Theresa found herself closely questioned as to herself and her circ.u.mstances, and heard a wondering exclamation pa.s.s the gentleman's lips as she spoke the name of Madame de Berquin.

That day saw the end of Theresa's troubles about food; for, from thenceforward till the close of the siege, General Varade, whose little son she had saved, made the care of her and her mother and of Madame de Berquin his especial task. He knew something of the history and family of the latter, came to see her, and would have moved her into better quarters had she wished it; but she had grown so fond of Theresa and her mother that until better days should come she preferred to remain where she was.

"It is to thy bravery, my child, that we owe all this," she once remarked; and Theresa, looking quite astonished, answered:

"Oh, Madame, I was never brave. I was always scolding myself for being such a coward!"

But others when they heard these words smiled.

JANE LANE

Those were anxious days for the adherents of the Stuarts. The late King had perished upon the scaffold, and his family were in exile in foreign lands. The iron rule of Cromwell had England in its grip. But anxious eyes were fixed upon that gallant attempt of the King's son--King Charles II., as the loyalists already called him--to win back for himself the kingdom his father had lost, and overset the military thraldom beneath which the people now groaned.

It was a time of intense suspense and heartbreaking anxiety. It seemed impossible that the young King, crowned in Scotland, and on his way to the south, could overthrow those redoubtable troops commanded by their redoubtable General, the great Oliver Cromwell himself. And yet hope which springs eternal in the human breast filled the hearts of the cavaliers with bright antic.i.p.ations of coming triumph; antic.i.p.ations that were changed to dire fears and forebodings when the news of the result of the Battle of Worcester became known.

At Bentley Hall, in Staffordshire, the loyal family of the Lanes were following the fortunes of their Prince with the keenest solicitude; and yet, as family life goes on its way in spite of wars and rumours of wars, so it befell that Jane, the beautiful unwedded daughter of the house, was making preparation for a journey to Abbotsleigh, the home of her married sister, where she had been rather urgently summoned, as Mrs.

Norton was ill, and desired much the companionship of her favourite sister.

As Abbotsleigh was in Gloucestershire, and as the journey would involve the pa.s.sage through the Parliamentary lines and through the disturbed portion of the country, a pa.s.s had been obtained for Jane and her party from the Parliamentary General.

Colonel Lane had gone himself to see to this matter, and Jane was awaiting his return in some anxiety. He had not been with the King's forces on the field of Worcester, though he was very loyal in his disposition towards him, and was privately working in the royalists'

cause. But it was possible, as his sister knew, that he might be suspected, and have some difficulty in gaining what he was seeking to obtain; and she awaited his return with great impatience and some nervous trepidation.

The sound of horses' feet in the courtyard below brought a flood of colour to her cheek. She ran to a window, and sought to peer out into the autumnal evening's gloom, but though she could see little, she heard the tones of her brother's voice, and at once she rushed to the room of her mother to announce to her the welcome tidings that the traveller had returned.

Soon word reached the ladies upstairs that the Colonel had not come alone. Lord Wilmot had accompanied him, and would remain a few hours, till his horse was rested, and the ladies made preparation for meeting him at supper in an hour's time. Lord Wilmot was only slightly known to them; but they received him courteously, and learned from him a good many details of the disastrous fight at Worcester, and the hopelessness of any farther resistance to the Parliamentary leaders.

"But His Majesty is safe, I trust?" questioned the old lady anxiously.

Lord Wilmot made guarded reply:

"His Majesty is with friends, who are forwarding him to the coast where he must take ship for France once more."

"Pray heaven he fall not into the hands of his foes!" cried Mrs. Lane earnestly; and the two men breathed a fervent "Amen."

Jane heard that her pa.s.s had been obtained, and that was a relief to her, since she greatly desired to be with her sister. But she observed that her brother and their guest were somewhat absorbed and anxious in manner, and she was not surprised, when they rose from table, that her brother made her a sign that he had somewhat to say to her.

Their father was at this time not very well, and Mrs. Lane excused herself to her guest, saying that she must go to her husband. They did not seek to detain her; but the Colonel beckoned to Jane to follow them into a small parlour, where they would be safe from prying eyes or listening ears; and after he had kicked the logs into a cheery blaze, he suddenly faced round upon her, and said:

"Sister, we are about to trust you with a weighty secret. It concerns the King!"

"The King! Where is he?"

"He has been flying in disguise, this way and that, from the ardent pursuit of the Parliamentary soldiers. He has had many narrow escapes. A worthy miller and his sons have done good service by sheltering him; before that he was at White Ladies. To-night he is at Mosley with our good friend Mr. Whitegrave. To-morrow night he must come to Bentley!"

"To Bentley!--here?" cried Jane, clasping her hands.

"Ay, here to Bentley; and none must know it but you, fair sister, and I; and if you ask wherefore comes he here?--I answer you that it is that he may travel as your groom and servant when you ride forth to Abbotsleigh. To Bristol, by hook or by crook, he must be smuggled; and how to pa.s.s him through the Parliamentary lines is, indeed, a hard nut to crack. But see this pa.s.s--it makes provision for Mistress Jane Lane, her servants and friends, the latter being named as you see: our cousin Robert Lascelles, and Mr. Petre with his wife. But as for servants, there is no special mention as to them. Sister, you must ride pillion behind your King, and treat him as your servant!"

Jane's colour came and went, as well it might. She lacked not courage nor discretion; yet the magnitude of this great responsibility, so suddenly and strangely thrust upon her, seemed for a moment too great to contemplate.